The Sanctity of the Arts
by The Bunnies Will Kill Us All
Summary: I mightn't have bothered to fall in love with Daryl Dixon at all if I'd known it would entail so much outdoorsy crap. And that was before the apocalypse. My name is Persephone Jones, and this is my journal. DarylOC.
1. The Cardinal Convergence

_**Title: The Sanctity of the Arts**_

_**By The Bunnies Will Kill Us All **_

_**Summary: **_My name is Persephone Jones, and herein lies an account of my life both before and after the onset of the apocalypse. Do not read if you're sensitive to sarcasm and wit, because the zombie scourge hasn't put a damper on either of those things. DarylOC.

_**Author Note: **_So yeah, I decided I didn't have enough on my plate with multiple ongoing stories and university work and a job and a pressing desire to eat and sleep sometime this month, so I wrote another story... On the bright side, this one's been in my head for a while and I'm quite thrilled to be breathing life into it. Plus, anything apocalypse rules. Do R&R, it motivates me to update and I personally respond to every review at the beginning of each chapter.

**Chapter One: The Cardinal Convergence**

* * *

**Entry 1: 14****th**** June, 2012**

_Day 38 of the Zombie Apocalypse _

The funny thing about the end of the world is that everyone seems to forsake the sanctity of the arts. Journalling might not technically be an _art_, per se, but it's really the only quasi-creative thing I'm qualified to do. So here I am, going against the post-apocalyptic grain, embracing the arts.

The other funny thing about the end of the world is how the status quo gets completely inverted. People who you never would have even walked near become super valuable. People like Daryl Dixon.

If I had seen Daryl Dixon walking down the street towards me in days gone by, I might've sharply changed direction or hidden behind a hedge. I didn't like him much back then, or at least, I didn't think I did.

Nowadays it is the Daryl Dixon's of the world who keep my breathing, and I am eternally grateful.

My name is Persephone Jones.

I have been tying my own shoes since I was six.

I have been reading and disliking Austen since I was nine.

And I have been preparing for the zombie apocalypse since I was twelve.

I'll start you kids off from a story from my youth, one I'll think you'll like.

It's the story of how exactly I came to know the crossbow-toting, squirrel-hunting quasi-racist known as Daryl Dixon.

* * *

When I first met Daryl I was sixteen and he was well into his twenties. I was on a geography field trip. This was obviously pre-apocalypse. It was six years before anything even remotely horrifying happened, in fact.

But yes. I was on a geography field trip in the wilderness that surrounded my hometown, a reasonably diminutive settling nestled in the heart of Georgia.

Me and Henry Steiner had been paired off and sent in the general direction of cold motherless nowhere. The aim was to find our team flag, the location of which had been mapped out for us. Henry was unintelligent and dull company, but he still surpassed me in terms of navigating, so he had taken control of the compass.

"Women have no sense of direction," he had said dismissively. I disliked Henry Steiner. I'm sort of glad he's probably dead now.

Dry, crisp leaves crunched underfoot and birdsong abounded. It was almost lovely, but for the fact that it was sweaty, tiring and the surrounding woods were infested with mosquitoes. Henry forged ahead, sending tree branches whipping back into my face. I muttered conspiratorially under my breath for the whole hike.

Eventually we had to stop to rest in a little clearing. Regrettably, there was also talk. I disliked having to exchange gratuitous small talk with cretins like Henry.

"I think we just need to walk a click or two that way," Henry said, pointing off into the distance. I took his word for it that we were going the right way. I didn't have the requisite skill-set to argue.

I shrugged and nodded, all the while scratching my mosquito-bitten arms. Angry red welts were already making their appearance. I muster an ounce of tired courtesy and reply: "Okie dokie, boss."

"Five minutes rest and we continue on?" He said, like it was a question. He was undoubtedly the play-maker here, I didn't know why he bothered pretending otherwise. He walked to the other side of the clearing and leaned against a tree. Leaning was cool, or at least that was the word. Henry fancied himself cool.

I nodded. I was parched, so I unscrewed the special outdoorsy water bottle that had been provided, and found to my horror that it was all but empty. "Fuck."

"Whassat?" Henry asked, whirling around, alarmed. I presumed he was talking about my expletive, but his eyes seemed to travel past me, just over my right shoulder.

I raised my hands defensively, "just out of water, chillax."

"No, behind you!" He pointed over my shoulder and I became all too aware of a rustling of leaves.

I turned around to see a filthy figure emerge seemingly out of thin air, brandishing a crossbow. A murderous woodsman, just like in the movies, kids.

I screamed and fell backwards over a tree root, as I was not graceful at the best of times. So did Henry, though he likes to think he kept his manly composure.

I grabbed my empty water bottle and raised it over my head like it was a cudgel or something. Like was going to do legitimate damage to the murderous woodsman with my empty water bottle. The crossbow-wielding maniac lowered his weapon and chuckled to himself.

I was terrified of him at the time, so my preliminary appraisal of the man I did not yet know to be Daryl Dixon was that he was an unwashed redneck from west of nowhere (which, to be fair, was true of a large majority of the people I called fellow townsfolk). I ignored the nice hazel colour of his eyes, and the overall pleasing nature of his features. He was a mean, scary hick, and nothing more.

He looked at me with those eyes, those mocking eyes, like there was something inherently funny about me. It made me immediately self-conscious. I pulled myself to my feet and brushed off the debris best I could without making too much of a scene of it. I held on to the water bottle.

"You right?" He said, slinging that god-awful crossbow across his back. "Didn't scare ya, did I, babygirl?"

I shook my head because frankly I was too scared to do anything else. By then Henry had recovered.

"Dude!" He said emphatically. I rolled my eyes in sheer amazement at the shortcomings of the American education system. Oh yes, we breed eloquent and literate youths down here in Georgia.

"You got something to say, son?" The crossbow man asked a little threateningly, brandishing a sheathed bowie knife that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"No." Henry said weakly, scrambling backwards and effectively abandoning me. Coward.

"'Swhat I thought." He reattached the sheathed knife to his belt and refocused his attention on me.

That's roughly when I rediscovered my voice.

"I also have nothing to say," I babbled, "except that that's a lovely crossbow you have there. So… menacing, and such."

He chuckled again, and eyed me like a cat eyes a mouse. "Don't you fret, babygirl. I aint gonna hurt ya. Just squirrel hunting."

"Squirrel… hunting?" I repeat, not quite able to keep the disbelief out of my voice.

He eyed me, taking in my apparel. "You aint exactly the outdoorsy type, are ya?"

"No." I reply. "I have a definite preference for the indoors."

"Thirsty?" He asked, nodding at my empty water bottle. "S'empty, aint it? There wasn't any heft to it when you went to try an' bludgeon me with it."

I blushed. "Yeah, it's empty. And I wasn't trying to bludgeon you with it, I was just... surprised."

He fiddled with one of the many packs at his belt, freeing a flask. "Here." He said, offering it to me.

I took it cautiously, belatedly realising that it probably wasn't just water that the flask contained. He seemed like the guy who travelled with a flask of bourbon or vodka or something. "What's in it?" I asked warily.

"Chloroform." He replied, not missing a beat. I had to admit it was a witty response. Well timed, too.

"Funny." I said bleakly, sniffing the lid cautiously. It certainly smelled like water. I took a slow sip.

"S'just water." He confirmed, walking around the little clearing we had decided to rest in. "What's your name, babygirl?"

I considered my options before replying. Perhaps it was best to keep the tone light and non-murderous. After all, that had been a big knife, and I didn't like my odds in regards to the water bottle vs crossbow battle either. "Persephone."

"Persephone what?" He pressed.

"Persephone Jones."

"Well, babygirl," he said, making a point of not using the name I'd just provided him with, "I'm Daryl Dixon."

"I'm Henry," Henry stupidly volunteered. Daryl sent an annoyed glance his way, his eyes flicking back to me all too quickly.

"What're you kids doing out here, anyway?" Daryl asked. "Gotta need to sneak into the woods to have sex on a school day?"

Oh, how I blushed.

"He's not-" I started.

"_She's_ not-" Henry said with unnecessary disgust.

"We're _not_," I said emphatically, "it's a geography field trip. We have to find our flag."

He laughed. "Figures. You're too pretty for him anyway, babygirl."

"Hey!" Henry protested.

"You best not talk to me, son," Daryl said, "I don't like you much."

I couldn't bite back my laughter at that comment. Henry glared.

"C'mon, Seph, we're nearly at the flag," he said darkly, storming off into the trees.

"Wait a minute there, son," Daryl commanded, "I'm fair sure you can't tell your face from your ass, so you best hand the map over and let me have a look."

Henry was clearly as aware as I was that this was not a man to be messed with, because he handed the compass and map over to Daryl Dixon without hesitation. Daryl immediately shoved the compass back into Henry's hand, muttering something about its uselessness, and observed the map closely.

"See, you made a wrong turn at the crick," He said, "you wanna head south from here, otherwise you'll be walking till you hit Atlanta."

I glared at Henry. "You got us lost!" I said accusatorially. "Atlanta, Henry! I don't want to go to Atlanta!"

Daryl looked at me amusedly, and turned to leave, unslinging his crossbow.

I sighed and tried to make sense of the map that Henry had clearly misunderstood, finding it nothing but a mass of squiggly lines. I huffed. There was no way I was going to be able to make sense of this. We were well and truly lost.

"Well c'mon." Came Daryl's voice from the edge of the clearing. "I ain't got all day, babygirl."

And so I followed him into the thick wilderness.

This chapter of the story ends conventionally. Daryl led us to our flag with woodsman-esqe ease that I couldn't help but envy, and we had parted ways. This might've been the end of our story, his and mine, but for the unbelievable coincidence that followed.

* * *

Back then I worked the afternoon shift at a little local pub called Odette's. Because I was under-age I wasn't allowed to work behind the bar or come in for the night runs, but the tri-weekly afternoon shift suited me just fine in those days. I was still in school, after all.

I'd run home to change into my work uniform after the geography field trip. My uniform was a sad testament to the nature of things in my little town, combining a fitted white tee with the pub's logo on it with a pair of something that would show some leg. I opted for a denim skirt. I attempted to do something with my hair, which had not fared well in the wilderness, and applied a bit of make-up. I'd learned long ago that a pleasing exterior equated to bigger tips at Odette's. And I wanted to go to college.

The place I was from was a sweet little town, but even small towns had an underbelly. An underbelly crawling with unsavoury characters like Daryl Dixon. The rough crowd generally didn't come in until well after I'd finished work, but it seemed that today was an exception, and the trash was making a point of drinking early.

I heard them as soon as I walked in. Loud, bawdy, and just quintessentially redneck-y.

One of them had his feet up on a chair when I walked. I heard someone call him Merle. Then I saw someone else, someone all too familiar.

Daryl didn't see me, I didn't think. I had jumped behind a nearby wall reflexively as soon as I had seen him. I pressed my back up against it, unsure as to why I was panicking. Their voices carried, and I listened in to what they were saying.

"So, what's news baby brother?" Said the one I thought was called Merle.

"Nu'n much." Daryl was the one who replied, indicating that that this Merle was another Dixon. "Went squirrel huntin'."

"Old news!" Called one of the other fellows.

"When I ask for news, I mean what's news in the world of pussy, aint that right fellas?"

There was a rowdy babble of consensus. I blushed, though I wasn't really sure why. It wasn't like they were talking about me.

"Well," He paused, "I saw this cute little piece in the woods today."

I froze up. He couldn't mean…

"C'mon, son," That was his brother, I was fairly sure, Merle. "Gonna need more than that to keep us warm at night." There was general laughter, and my cheeks went fire engine red for what felt like the umpteenth time since I had met Daryl Dixon.

"Sixteen," he said, and I could tell from his voice that he was smiling, "Or thereabouts. Tall for her age, with legs that go on and on, boys." There was some laughter and hooting. "I'm tellin' you, she was tall and blonde and pretty as hell."

Never have I blushed like I blushed in that moment, pressed up against the wall of Odette's, getting flakes of peeling wallpaper on my clothes. I couldn't move – what if they saw me? I just stood there, frozen, in a bar where I was supposed to be working in within spitting distance of men I had no business knowing. Ever.

"Gotta name for us, son?"

"Persephone somethin'. An' she had big brown doe eyes, too. Wide as saucers when she saw me, I tell you."

"Girly wanted to play." Merle again, I guessed, vowing eternal hatred for the man. At that point I was a minor and rightfully enraged by the implication of his words. Also terrified. But primarily outraged.

"Give it two years, I'm not into jailbait," Daryl said casually, like he could've strolled up to me and just taken me if he wanted to.

He was such a pig back then.

"What are you doing?" Said Melody, a fellow server. I stepped away from the wall and muttered a distracted apology.

"You're supposed to be working, table three's waiting for you to take their order."

No prizes for guessing which was table three.

I procrastinated a little over by the bar, taking time getting my notepad into order and smoothing out my uniform. I checked my hair too, though at the time I convinced myself that it didn't have a thing to do with Daryl Dixon or his disgusting entourage. Sighing, and unable to fend off the glares of my boss any longer, I made my way over to table three.

The table didn't quieten upon my reaching it, and indeed Daryl seemed to be the only one who noticed me at all. He looked me up and down and I determinedly avoided eye-contact. Eventually the table quietened and I donned an expression of cheer.

"Hi, I'll be your server today," I said, leaving out the bit where I'd usually say my name, "what can I get for you all this evening?"

"Couple pitchers of Bud, darlin," Said one of the unknown men, winking at me. I suppressed the shiver that attempted to manifest along my spine and prayed that Daryl didn't say anything.

"Well hi there, babygirl," drawled Daryl. I wince.

"Hi," I said, trying to smile. "I'll be right back with those-"

"Hold up a sec, honey," that was Merle. Fucking Merle. "You look like someone I've heard of, wanna tell us your name, sweetheart?"

I paused, hoping that the moment would last forever, therefore forestalling the inevitable.

Finally I couldn't delay it any longer without being rude, so I grudgingly muttered "Persephone."

The table explodes in a cacophony of raucous noise. I wince, again, looking everywhere but at any of their faces.

"Well I'll be damned," Merle laughed, slapping his brother on the shoulder. Curiously, Daryl didn't look overly amused with the whole spectacle. "We was just hearing about you, girl."

"I see." I said thinly. I donned a belated smile and spoke, "I'll be right back with your drinks. Two pitchers of bud, coming right up."

I put the order in at the bar and I hid. Thankfully, due to the minor thing, it was Melody who had to bring the pitchers out to Daryl and his group, and I was spared the horror of waiting on them for the rest of their visit.

Sadly, however, the damage that embarrassing encounter had wrought was irreversible. He knew where I worked, and took advantage of that knowledge. From then on, every Tuesday afternoon was beer o' clock for Daryl and his little buddies. Every Tuesday afternoon for what would feasibly be the rest of my life.

* * *

And that is the story of how I met Daryl Dixon. I guess I'll tell you a little more about my world (pre-apocalypse) on the morrow.


	2. The Indeterminate Incident

_**Title: The Sanctity of the Arts**_

_**By The Bunnies Will Kill Us All**_

_**Summary: **_My name is Persephone Jones, and herein lies an account of my life both before and after the onset of the apocalypse. Do not read if you're sensitive to sarcasm and wit, because the zombie scourge hasn't put a damper on either of those things. DarylOC.

_**Author Note: **_I might as well just mention that I use the "Persephone Jones" character in a number of my stories. Her incarnations are all reasonably distinctive, however. I just like the name. I find it really hard to find names that fit, so I tend to reuse the same ones so that I don't get hunkered down for hours searching for the perfect name. Too easy to get stuck in the planning stage. For the record, my parents were not cruel enough to name me Persephone Jones. My name is Ashley. But yeah, just had that on the brain, so thought I'd share. **Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews!**

_**Leila: **_And I can't wait to write more, symbiotic, ne? :)

_**Emberka-2012: **_I shall do just that. Welcome to the longest chapter I've ever written!

_**Cereline: **_I'm so glad you concur! I love heroines who embody strength of character, dark humor and a certain level of humanity and kindess. Hopefully I can develop Persephone into one such character. And you know you're doing something right when you watch and read apocalypse fiction for the lols.

_**LadyLecter47: **_Thanks for letting me know, you're quite right. I tried to keep an eye out for it in this chapter, so hopefully I don't slip again. Hopefully this chapter convinces you to stick around!

_**May85**_: More has arrived! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Indeterminate Incident**

**Entry 2: 15th June, 2012**

_Day 39 of the Zombie Apocalypse_

I mentioned before that I've been preparing for the zombie apocalypse since I was twelve. That statement was perhaps a little perplexing to those who don't have a general understanding of my pre-apocalyptic life. Allow me to dispel confusion.

Me and my family, we would sit around the dinner table and make theoretical plans about what we'd do if there was ever an apocalyptic event. We were a bit odd like that, but its what I loved about us.

My family never really fit in with the rest of the Georgian populace, me least of all. I was different, I don't think people quite knew how to respond to me. It didn't help that I was also paralysingly uncool.

I mean, I wasn't walking around with braces, glasses and prescription shoe-soles or anything, but I was undeniably queer. I read books that no self-respecting southern belle should be seen reading (such as the works of the Marquis de Sade, from whose name the word sadism was originally derived), I almost always responded to attempts at conversation with sarcasm (when I wasn't trying to get a semi-decent tip at Odette's) and I really just didn't like most people very much.

Some things haven't changed. Others have.

I look a little different now, but back then I had blond hair, a pleasant face and a soft, curvaceous figure. I was never going to be striking but some would say I was pretty in an understated, conventional sort of way.

I guess Daryl was one of those people.

I'm not going to act all clueless and pretend I didn't know he was attracted to me. The incident at Odette's made that much plain. Daryl Dixon liked me and everyone knew it. As I got older, from about nineteen onwards, several fellow waitresses made a concerted effort to create scenarios in which Daryl and I would have to interact. That yeilded varying levels of success. We'd flirt, fight and bicker, and then do it all over again.

He was always reasonably nice to me, or at least as nice as Dary Dixon could be to anyone. I mean, he'd occasionally say something insensitive or insulting, but at least he never tried to shoot me. Which is more than I can say for some of the other townspeople.

I'll jump forward to when I was twenty-two, simply because ages sixteen through to twenty-one were only notable in the sense that they saw me change from a young girl working at Odette's and attending school to a young girl working at Odette's and attending college. My life was not terribly interesting before the apocalypse.

By then, I'd known Daryl for years. I wouldn't have called him a friend, but he did help me out that one time I got a flat tyre, and he beat up that guy who tried to pick me up at work. He never admitted that was _why_ he beat the guy up, he found some other petty reason, but I knew the truth.

We _weren't_ friends. We were friend-_like._

But anyway, all this babble about context is dull. Let me tell you about the Second Event in the chronicle of my pre-apocalyptic relationship with Daryl Dixon.

FYI: There are four events in total.

_First Event_: The Meeting (I covered the pastoral nature of our first meeting pretty well yesterday, it was practically the opening salvo to an excellent Shakespeare play. Doubtless you remember.)

_Second Event_: The Drunken Kiss

_Third Event_: The Confession

_Fourth Event_: The Date

As the name suggests, the Second Event is a tale of great personal humiliation. I'm sure you're all inordinately excited for that.

* * *

The downfall to attending a community college less than ten miles away from home is that you simply don't have the range of bars that one would have at a more respected, non-Georgian university. The upside is that you don't have to pay for accommodation, because you can shamelessly leech off your parent's goodwill by continuing to live at home.

The sad truth was that Foote Hills Community College simply could not adequately accommodate the drinking needs of me and my friends. There was no lively club on campus or within a reasonable distance, meaning that the only viable option for our partying needs remained happy hour at Odette's.

It's worth pointing out that I am by no means a partier. I'd much rather sit at home alone, reading a book or crafting a humorous anecdote in my head for future use in a situation that would never eventuate. I don't like crowds. I don't even like party-poppers. I don't even like _streamers_.

I do like bourbon, though. But that's exactly the kind of thinking that got me into the unfortunate mess that was the Second Event.

I was twenty-two. I was young. I had finally become kinda-sorta-cool among my college peers, and it was all Jasmine Dupree's fucking idea anyway.

But these are petty excuses.

Jasmine Dupree, a girl who I was seventy percent sure studied horticulture, but actually just grew a lot of pot, had only really been my friend in earnest for a few weeks. She was irresponsible and daring, but she made for good company and she was the first cool person to ever take any notice of me. She'd invited me out with her friends.

"It'll be fun!" She'd said. "Paint the town red, or at least a more provocative shade of beige."

I'd agreed, because I really did want Jasmine Dupree to like me. Things like that seemed important back then.

I put more effort into getting ready that night than I had for any date I'd ever been on. I put loose curls in my hair, painted my lips with cherry gloss and dusted my eyes with some umber eyeshadow to make them pop. I donned a denim skirt that ended just above the knee and a snug black top, and completed the look with a pair of strappy black heels.

I looked in the mirror and contemplated how much of an enormous sell-out I was. One word from the cool kids and I'd run off to adorn myself in hooker clothes and whorish makeup.

Well, not _whorish_, but significantly more provocative than usual.

Apparently I had no spine.

I'd braced myself, and made my way over to Odette's.

I saw Daryl the moment I walked in. He was playing pool over on the far side of the pub. He saw me too, if the long look he gave me was anything to go on. I smoothed my skirt on impulse, cursing myself for doing so a moment later. I walked over to Jasmine and the others.

I'd forgotten my nerves less than an hour later. Courtesy of an impressive number of margaritas. As was the case with everything in life, the salt made it taste better somehow.

It felt good to laugh about stupid things, for once. Like a poorly pixelated image of Marjorie's boyfriend's tattoo, or the fact that Jasmine had inadvertently ended up in bed with her college lecturer.

Then talk turned to me.

"That guy over by the pool table's been staring at you all night," Jasmine declared hotly, "and I for one would like to know why he isn't paying any attention to _me_."

I laughed at Jasmine's petulant expression. "That's just Daryl."

"_Daryl_," Jasmine said, savouring the name, "he's cute in a small-town kinda way, y'know."

I shrugged. "I spose. He's not exactly friendly, though."

"Oh, do tell more," entreated Marjorie.

I shrugged again. "He's a crossbow-toting nightmare."

"Doesn't look like a nightmare," Jasmine said pointedly, "he looks like a sweet, _sweet_ dream from where I'm sitting."

We all giggled at that. We were drunk.

"Well I don't like him," I declared with finality and gulped down some of my drink.

"Then you don't mind if I go talk to him?" Jasmine asked, eyes glinting. "If I go give him a kiss?"

"Go ahead," I said stubbornly, ignoring the feeling of worms burrowing into my stomach. I did _not_ care if Jasmine wanted to mess around with Daryl.

"Don't mind if I do," Jasmine said with a wink before sauntering off to the pool table.

Indecision gripped me for a moment before I cursed and tore after her. Marjorie and the others laughed in a way that was far too all-knowing for my liking.

They were just getting to introductions when I caught up. At the last moment I lost my courage and ducked behind a pillar. I listened in on the conversation.

"I'm Jas," Jasmine said breathily. "I hear you're Daryl."

Daryl glanced at Jasmine for a fraction of a second. "You hear right. So?"

Far from being deterred, Jasmine smiled wide at him. "I think you know my friend."

"Yeah?" I heard the sound of a pool cue hitting its mark. "Who's that?"

"The girl you've been staring at all night," Jasmine said blithely, "Persephone."

In my mind's eye I saw Daryl shrug nonchalantly. "Sure, I know babygirl."

"Babygirl? Why do you call her that? Seems a strange endearment."

"Cause she's sweet."

I nearly choked. Sweet wasn't a word often applied to me.

Jasmine was clearly equally surprised, because she choked back a laugh.

"Sweet?" I tried not to be offended by the incredulity in her voice, given that I was so similarly shocked by Daryl's characterisation of me as _sweet_.

"She aint half so mean as she thinks she is," Daryl said by way of explanation. "The big damn doe eyes give her away, girl wouldn't hurt a fly."

I heard the smile in Jasmine's voice. "That so?"

Daryl didn't answer verbally, and I had no idea whether or not he nodded or shrugged from my vantage point behind the pillar. For all I know he ignored her entirely. I hope he did.

"I came over to see if I could get your number," Jasmine said after a silent pause. I frowned. Not good.

Daryl chuckled. Pool cue collided with ball again. I heard the guy he was playing with curse, so I assume Daryl hit his mark.

"So…" Jasmine began to sound a little uncertain, "what about it?"

"Not interested."

The petty, jealous person inside me rejoiced. Daryl was _my_ ardent admirer.

"Cause you're into my friend?" Jasmine asked astutely. "No biggie. You should tell her, though."

"That aint a secret." Daryl said, clearly having grown tired of the conversation. "She knows where to find me if she's interested."

This was news to me. Everyone knew Daryl had a thing for me, including me, but I didn't know that he knew that I knew. That changed things.

Clearly Jasmine thought so too. "Seriously?" She asked incredulously. "She knows?"

"'S far as I know." Clearly Daryl didn't want to say any more on the topic. "You should get back to your gal-pals…"He struggled to remember her name.

"Jasmine." There was a little impatience in her voice now. I smiled in spite of myself.

"Whatever."

I smiled to myself as I listened to Jasmine's retreating footfalls, before I realised that she'd see me hunched behind the pillar like an idiotic sort of spy.

It was too late to evade her without alerting Daryl to my presence, so I had no choice but to stay put until Jasmine passed and saw me.

When she did, she shot me a toothy grin and dragged me to the bar. "Let's get drinks."

I nodded, unable to believe she wasn't annoyed at me for eavesdropping.

"Two shots of something strong," she instructed that night's bartender, who turned out to be Henry Steiner. I nodded to him in acknowledgement. He'd started work at Odette's a couple years ago, and regrettably had never left.

Jasmine instructed me to raise my shot glass. "To sweet, sweet dreams," she said with a wide smile.

We chinked our shot glasses together and downed the liquid. It burned like hellfire, but it did the trick. I felt myself lose some of the tension I'd accumulated in the past few moments.

I had felt myself becoming more and more uninhibited over the course of the evening, but the shot was what ultimately tipped me over the edge.

"So you never said you knew he liked you," Jasmine said, staring at me pointedly. "You never mentioned him at all before tonight."

I smiled awkwardly. "Didn't seem important. It's just Daryl. I've known him for like, ever."

"Ever?"

"Well, I've seen him every week for the last six years. He's a regular."

"I wonder why," Jasmine muttered under her breath. I glared.

"He's old," I said, trying to convince myself that the fact disturbed me, "he's got a decade on me."

Jasmine shrugged. "You're the oldest twenty-two year old I know."

"That doesn't make sense," I slurred my words a little. "You smoke too much pot. It's making your brain all funny and confusing."

"Keep your voice down," Jasmine scolded.

I smiled dopily. "Sorry."

"I think I put him in a bad mood," Jasmine said, a little guiltily, "what with my reminding him of your total lack of interest in him. What's up with that, by the way?"

"S'not my type." I said. "Simple."

"C'mon. He's an attractive man. I get that he's a little rough around the edges," Jasmine conceded, "but as someone with no requisite peoples skills, you should relate."

"Hey!"

She raised her hands defensively. "I'm a truthspeaker."

"You're mean." I muttered.

She grinned. "You're _sweet_, babygirl."

"Shut up, whatever-your-name-is." I retorted.

She snorted. "Okay, so he's a bit of a jerk for pretending to forget my name so quick."

"He's not all bad," I said, somehow finding myself on the other side of the conversation, defending Daryl, "he can be nice in his own way."

"Oh?"

"He fixed my car tyre once," I said, words still slurring, "and he beat up a guy for me."

"Romantic," Jasmine sniped. "Oh, if only I could find a man who would assault others at my behest."

"So he's a little rough around the edges," I said, "he's a good guy, really."

"And here I was thinkin' you didn't care, babygirl."

I froze. Jasmine looked at me with an expression of unparalleled glee. The scheming minx, she'd seen him come over and planned the whole thing!

I turned around, blushing, as was my custom when confronted by Daryl. "Oh. Um. Hi."

"Smooth." Jasmine said under her breath. I elbowed her hard in the ribs. That shut her up.

Daryl looked at me with those hazel eyes that always seemed kind of translucent for what felt like the longest time, before responding with a gruff "hey." He turned to Henry Steiner the bartender and ex-geography field trip partner. "Gimme a shot of the good stuff."

"Amen to that," Jasmine said. "A shot for my friend and I also, good barkeep."

I should have protested. I was already undoubtedly hammered. But you know what they say; Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda.

I downed the shot in one go, because I didn't like my odds of finishing it any other way. I really disliked the taste of hard spirits, but I loved the buzz. I made a face as the liquid burned its way down my throat.

Daryl didn't have any reaction to the spirits, and Jasmine seemed likewise unaffected. Both watched me with expressions of amusement.

"Can't even drink right," Daryl said, shaking his head. "I wonder about you, babygirl."

"Wonder what?" I asked defensively. "I'm perfectly normal."

Jasmine laughed. I shot her a venomous look.

"That's one thing you aint," Daryl said seriously, "you've gotta be the most unnormal girl I've ever met."

"Unnormal isn't a word," I said dryly.

"Whatever. You aint normal."

"Thanks so much," I said testily, "now, if you're quite done making unkind allegations about my character-"

"Now hold on a second, girl," Daryl argued, "I never said anythin' unkind."

"Wanna rewind the conversation, say, ten seconds?" I shot back.

"You wanna feel insulted, babygirl?" Daryl demanded. "Fine. That's just _fine_. Go right ahead, girl. I aint gonna stop you."

And with that, he turned and stormed back to the pool table. One unfortunate fellow didn't know better than to get in his way, and got a black eye for his trouble. It really wasn't so uncommon for either of the Dixon brothers to take a swing at a fellow patron, so nobody took much notice.

"Jesus," breathed Jasmine. "He certainly isn't friendly."

"You said it," I muttered, trying to crush the feeling of relentless guilt which stirred in the pit of my stomach. "We should get back to the others."

"He looks mad," Jasmine said, "maybe you should go and smooth things over."

"No," I replied stubbornly. "He's a jerk."

"Who you see every week," Jasmine said reasonably, "go on, go apologise."

I stood in place, rooted to the spot. I crossed my arms, not at all childishly.

"Persephone," Jasmine said insistently, "don't be silly. Go over there right now."

I stuck my tongue out at her petulantly, yet more evidence of my intoxication, before grudgingly making my way over.

His back was to me, but his pool opponent nodded in my direction as I approached. He turned around, holding the pool cue in a way which was both unassuming and deeply threatening. He liked to look mean.

"I aint got nothin' to say to you," he said firmly, "so go run along, now."

I frowned. "C'mon."

"Beat it," he said, waving a careless hand at me and leaning back over the pool table. "I'm busy, girl."

"Look, I'm sorry I got snippy." I said. "I'm drunk, okay? I'm mean. It's a quality we share, if I recall."

He looked at me critically, and then sighed. "You really do like pretending to be the bad guy, don'cha?"

"Huh?" At that point I was intoxicated enough that a single-syllable response was appropriate.

"You think you're some big mystery," he said tiredly, "but you're no mystery to me. I see you, clear as day. You aint mean."

"Others would disagree."

"Others don't concern me."

There was something deeply validating about it. About how he spoke of me. I'd never really considered myself a nice person, or a sweet person. But I'd never been cruel. I'd always been good and strong. But those were not qualities that tended to manifest themselves outwardly.

But he saw them anyhow.

I remembered his words from years ago. It wasn't the first time I'd done so.

_I'm tellin' you, she was tall and blond and pretty as hell._

Fucking hell, why'd he have to go and call me pretty? I blushed at the memory of that encounter, and felt all the more foolish for having a go at him earlier.

"Look, I really am sorry about how I acted." I said, even though I really didn't want to. Conceding to fault was really not in my nature.

He shrugged. He didn't reply.

"C'mon," I said, pressing on, "come have a drink with me. I'll shout."

It took some additional coddling, but I did eventually manage to get Daryl over to the bar. A surly Henry poured a couple of shots.

I raised my glass, and the perfect words came to me in my inebriated state.

"To friendship!" I said, with a smile which I think must've come across as a bit manic.

His eyes flickered with some conflicted emotion for a millisecond before he chinked his glass against mine. "Cheers." He said gruffly.

It hadn't really occurred to me beforehand that I was effectively alone with Daryl Dixon. It hadn't occurred to me that I should've stopped drinking half an hour ago. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd completely abandoned the group I'd come here with.

No, none of that occurred to me.

What did occur to me was that Daryl Dixon had really nice eyes, and that he was really close to me. I felt like there was electricity in my veins. I wobbled a little, but I think that was the alcohol. He was so tantalisingly close.

And then all of a sudden it seemed like I was immersed in the taste of him. I pressed my mouth against his. I inhaled the scent of him. I kissed him over and over.

He stayed curiously still for all of this, not rigid, just... still. I pulled away and looked at him curiously. Wasn't this what he wanted? My brow wrinkled in confusion.

He looked at me amusedly. "You're drunk, babygirl."

The wrinkles smoothed. Yes. I was drunk.

Let it be a testament to the extent of my drunkness that I responded to this comment with a high-pitched fit of giggles followed by a raised finger to my lips and a loud whisper of "shhhh!"

Melody was working that night, and chose that moment to pop over. Jasmine was nowhere to be found.

"Lord," she said, "it's a wonder she can stand."

"She got anyone to take her home?" Daryl asked, as if I wasn't there. I pouted petulantly, tracing my lips all the while.

"The rest of the group is in pretty similar condition," Melody said with a shrug, "I think she was pannin' on walking."

"Yes!" I said, a decibel too loudly, pointing at Melody emphatically. "I was going to walk in the moonlight!"

"Right." Melody said, clearly unimpressed.

"It'll be beautiful!" I yelled at Melody's retreating back. "It'll be like Christmas in the sky and everyone will get dandelions!"

"Jesus," I heard Daryl mutter. "You really are off your tree, aren't you, babygirl?"

I smiled lazily, leaning against his shoulder. "I like trees."

"Of course you do..." Without much warning, he slung my arm over his shoulder and wrapped his own around my waist. "C'mon, let's get you home."

I pouted. "No."

He ignored me. "Ay! Melody! You know Persephone's address?"

"Sure. She's in a little cul de sac just off Oakridge. Number 14."

Somehow Daryl managed to extract me from Odette's and get me into his truck. Little did he know that was only half the battle. The other half was mental. A test of endurance.

"I always wanted to be a foreign correspondent," I said bitterly, fiddling with my seatbelt, "Like Robert Fisk. But not a man."

"Uh huh."

"But I couldn't speak another language," I explained, "I was just _so_ bad at French."

"Uh huh."

"I hate the French." I said with feeling. "I hate their bread that thinks it's a sword, and their funny hats, and their _Frenchness_."

Daryl sighed. It was a frustrated sigh. I really couldn't blame him. He'd been pressganged into an evening of designated driving with a girl who was so inebriated she was talking about France.

The rest is a little blurry, but I think I vaguely remember entreating Daryl to pull over at the next service station so that I might buy some popcorn. He did not comply, and I think I might've bit him in retaliation.

"Jesus, girl!" I vaguely remember him yelling at one point. "You have really lost your mind, y'know that?"

I don't know how he managed it, but he got me into my house without waking my sleeping parents. When I woke up the next morning I was comfortably enveloped in a quilt and a glass of water and a couple of aspirin lay waiting.

* * *

And that, children, is the story of the Second Event. Stay tuned for the third, provided I don't get ripped apart sometime between now and tomorrow.


	3. The Brazen Bedding

_**Title: The Sanctity of the Arts**_

_**By The Bunnies Will Kill Us All**_

_**Summary: **_My name is Persephone Jones, and herein lies an account of my life both before and after the onset of the apocalypse. Do not read if you're sensitive to sarcasm and wit, because the zombie scourge hasn't put a damper on either of those things. DarylOC.

_**Author Note: **_I've got exams for the next week and a half, so you won't be hearing much from me, sadly. But after that, I promise you many a chapter. Thank you so much for the reviews!

_**LadyLecter47: **_You looked out, and here it is! Enjoy.

_**Emberka2012:**_ Cheers! The one thing the apocalypse always lacks is a funny protagonist. I thought I'd have a stab at filling the void.

_**Marulk: **_Oh don't worry, there's no possibility of that happening. I'll leave the supersoldier stuff to Summer Glau.

_**Cereline: **_Your observations about Persephone are astute and insightful, thank you! Glad I'm kinda conveying what I intended to.

_**Leila: **_Me and my family legit have a plan of action. My mum's got in her head that we need rope, though she's really unclear on why. And I'm so glad you appreciate the off-kilter sense of humour! I don't know that there's much of it in this chapter, it's more mushy, but hopefully there's enough banter to tide you over till next time. Thanks for the review!

_**ChooseJoy:**_ I don't know about six times a day, given that I do need to sleep and sometimes even put in a little effort to my university work, but I really really really appreciate the enthusiasm! It makes me fuzzy inside.

_**Leyshla Gisel:**_ You must be a fun drunk, then. I just get sleepy. It's very boring. Thanks so much for reviewing!

* * *

**Chapter Three: The Brazen Bedding**

**Entry 3: 16th June, 2012**

_Day 40 of the Zombie Apocalypse_

It won't surprise you to learn that I had a splitting headache subsequent to the Second Event. Full recovery took about three days and many aspirin. It was only after this lull that I realised exactly how fucked I was.

I'd kissed him. I'd gotten blind drunk at my place of employment and I'd kissed him and I think I might've confessed my dormant passion for at-the-scene hard-hitting journalism too.

I was admittedly a little pleased with myself. It was likely that kissing Daryl Dixon in a pub was as close as I would ever get to a party pash. I thought it best to savour the taste of youthful rebellion.

Naturally, the next few days of anxiety and shame were overcome with a combination of cookie dough ice cream and Casablanca. I wondered if it would be too excessive to move to Peru and start collecting yarn in an attempt to avoid ever having to hear a retelling of that night's events.

And now the thing you all really want to hear about: the Third Event.

* * *

Going in to work that week was the ultimate exercise in shame. I copped a lot of mockery from a lot of people, and Melody flat out ignored me. That wasn't unusual, though.

But there was only one person I really dreaded laying eyes on, and he showed up on Tuesday afternoon at the same time as always.

"Hey there, babygirl," he said, as if nothing had happened between us. He said it like he'd said it every week for six years. Like nothing had changed and this was just another day of light flirting to no particular end. I should have been relieved.

Instead I felt like crying.

What if I ruined it? I thought wildly. What if he changed his mind and he doesn't like me anymore? What if he never really did and it was all just a game?

I realised that I'd just been standing there in silent disbelief. Daryl and his companions were all looking at me.

I stuttered an apology and smiled.

"What can I get for you all today?" I tried to be cheerful, but even to my own ears it sounded unconvincing. "The usual?"

"Sure," was Daryl's response.

"And a serve of chilli fries." Added someone else.

I nodded, perhaps a little too rigorously, and scrawled down the order. "Coming right up!"

I put the order in and hid behind the counter, leaning up against it. I breathed deep.

There are few times in life when the urge to crawl into a hole in the ground and die is truly overpowering, but that was undoubtedly one such time.

When I reappeared at the table with the customary pitchers of bud and a serve of chilli fries, I was confronted by the horrifying vision that was Merle Dixon.

I had not warmed to Merle over the years. Everything out of his mouth was either offensive or just plain stupid. But he was Daryl's brother, and Daryl and I were almost sort of friends. So I was polite.

"Hi there, Merle," I said, smiling stiffly. "Anything I can get for you, or is the beer enough?"

"I'm fine, darlin," he said, eyes flashing from me to Daryl in a way that couldn't possibly be good, "but I'm sure my little brother here wouldn't say no to a lap dance or summin'."

I blushed to the roots of my hair. I didn't even know what to say, which was stupid, because Merle always said crap like that to me and I always had a witty comeback ready. I opened my mouth, and then closed it again without making a single sound.

Daryl just looked uncomfortable. Put off. By me?

"Heard ya got a little tipsy the other night, darlin'," Merle continued, his evil smirk never wavering, "heard ya got a bit friendly with Daryl here."

Daryl looked determinedly at the table. I glared at him. Coward.

"Jesus," I muttered, "is there anybody who _didn't_ see that?"

"The people who didn't see it got it second-hand," supplied one of the other men, the one who'd asked for chilli fries.

"Great." I replied coldly, almost certainly jeopardising the quality of my tip. "Just great."

"So, ah," Merle drawled, "you kids plannin' a summer weddin'?"

The comment was obviously intended to make us uncomfortable, so I decided to respond with enthusiasm and cutting wit.

"The spring colour palette suits my skin tone better, actually," I said, voice drenched in sarcasm, "so it'll probably be around then. We just _couldn't_ wait longer than that. We were thinking big church, lots of people, obnoxious little flower girl... the works. We'll save you a seat."

Chilli Fries guffawed. Merle's eyes narrowed. Daryl didn't seem to know what to do with his expression.

"Is that all?" I asked in mock politeness. Merle nodded grudgingly and I returned myself to my corner by the bar.

I was angry. Furious, really. What right did Daryl Dixon have to act like he was ashamed of me? He'd be _lucky_ to have me.

Clearly my rage was palpable, because Daryl was the first of his group to leave that night. I narrowed my eyes as I watched him exit.

Then, like a crazy, possessed madwoman, I found myself following him.

I yelled out that I was taking my break and I grabbed my keys and I followed Daryl Dixon home.

_This is crazy, _I told myself, _this is crazy and really weird and not at all socially acceptable. Stalking is a felony. _

I didn't know where exactly he lived, so I tried to keep the car at enough of a a distance that he wouldn't notice I was following, but close enough that I wouldn't lose him.

Eventually he pulled in at a small, ramshackle cabin a ways off from anywhere too populated. I knew there were other houses nearby but you couldn't see them from Daryl's property. The forest was too dense. I pulled up behind him.

I slammed the car door, drawing Daryl's attention. Instead of exhibiting shock or rage, he opted for mild surprise. That annoyed me. He should've quivered. Shaken. Cried, maybe.

"Okay!" I yelled. "Listen up!"

He turned to face me slowly, giving me the '_nobody yells at Daryl Dixon and lives_' look, which I haughtily ignored.

"What?" He asked, surly.

"We are going to talk about this," I mandated, knowing he'd understand what the "this" entailed.

His eyes flicked to mine. "Fine."

I huffed, not really sure where to begin. Eventually, I found the words. "You've been chasing me for what, like, six years now?"

"Four," he corrected quietly, "you were too young 'fore that. 'S illegal."

"Right. Whatever." I said irately. "The point is, you were into me, and I _kissed_ you."

He raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"Well... that's it." I faltered for a moment. How was he not getting this? "I kissed you, and you did nothing."

He shrugged. "You were drunk."

"So?"

"So you weren't yourself," Daryl explained, "you can't tell me you woulda kissed me otherwise."

"Well, perhaps my blood-alcohol level was the catalyst." I conceded. "But that's not the point."

"Didn't wanna take advantage, is all." He said this very quickly, almost as if he didn't really want me to hear it. Like he didn't want me to know he was doing something decent.

"Oh," was all I could stay. I blinked a few times. "That's all?"

"Yeh."

"But... you still like me. Like always?"

"Uh huh." He turned away, and started unpacking his truck. "Why'd you care, anyhow?"

Ah, now for the hard bit.

Quickly, I told myself. Do it quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

"I..." I faltered, words failing me. "I just..."

It didn't help when he stepped forward like that, hovering in my personal space, staring right into my eyes. "You just what?"

He said it huskily, and I was so pathetic that my knees nearly buckled. I tried to keep my emotions from playing across my face. I swallowed.

"I just... didn't like seeing you with Jasmine." I finally said, a little breathlessly.

His face showed confusion. "Who?"

"Jasmine," I said, incredulity in my voice, "you know, my friend from the bar. She asked for your number."

He didn't really give any indication that he remembered or cared who Jasmine was, he just kept on staring. "And what, you two don't get along?"

I blinked. "No, we get along great."

"You just didn't like her flirtin' with me?" He asked.

"Right." I said. "Because..."

"Because...?"

"Because nothing." I amended. "Nothing."

"Nothin?" He repeated, smiling a little. "There ain't no reason why?"

"Right." I said shortly, attempting to remember how to breathe.

"It ain't because..." his eyes trailed slowly downwards, and then slowly back up, "it ain't because of anythin' else?"

_In, out, in, out._ I reminded myself. Keep breathing.

"Ah..." I tried to speak coherently.

He smirked and then he kissed me. It was a hard, possessive kiss, but good. I felt that same electricity that had coursed through me that night at the bar. All I could think about was the feel of him. The scratch of stubble against my own skin, the snaking of hands around my waist. Things I'd missed before.

The scent of him was so distinctive. How had I never noticed? It was a musky scent, like trees and woodsmoke. I wanted to bury my face in his neck and breathe deep, but that would mean ending the kiss. And that was unthinkable.

We kept our faces close when we finally broke apart. I could feel his breath against my cheek. I looked into his eyes and saw flecks of colour I'd never noticed before. I couldn't help the idiotic smile that spread across my face.

"So this is your place?" I asked coyly, glancing back at the small, shambling cabin.

"You wanna see the bedroom?" He asked, grinning wolfishly.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean-" Protest was useless, his lips crashed against mine again and he pulled me inside, miraculously without having to break the embrace. He wasn't clumsy like I was.

His hands worked their way under my top, swiftly doing away with the offending garment. I found myself doing the same to him, unbuttoning his sleeveless shirt with a definite sense of urgency. One of the buttons popped as a result of my enthusiasm, and I went to murmur an apology. Before I could he had pushed me up against the wall of a narrow corridor and kissed along my neck. His hands fumbled with the clasp of my bra.

I let out a breathless laugh. "Given how old you are, I woulda figured you would have some practice at getting these off." I push his clumsy hands away and unclasp it myself. He glared at me a little, but he couldn't stop himself from staring freely at my now naked upper body.

He used his other hand to brush a stray strand of hair behind my ear and leaned in to whisper; "Why don't I show you exactly how an old guy like me can make you feel inside?"

I shivered. "Okay."

* * *

When I woke up the next morning reality did me the wonderful favour of hitting me with all the subtlety of a slow motion brick to the face. For the second time that week.

"_Fuck_," I swore, scrambling to get out of bed. I forgot how narrow and tiny the bed actually was, and stumbled, kicking my toe. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..."

"Whassat?" Daryl asked sleepily, stirring.

"I never went back to work," I said, forcing my arms through the corresponding holes of my shirt. "I said I was taking my break and I never went back."

"'sat all?" He grumbled, turning back over and burying his head in the pillow. "Jesus girl, I thought somethin' serious had happened. Come back to bed."

"No, I have to go and apologise." I said in a strained voice, frantically looking around for my shorts. "I might lose my job!"

"Come back to bed," he entreated me a second time. "Place doesn't open till lunchtime anyhow. Racin' over there with your shirt on backwards and breakin' in ain't gonna do much for your cause."

I blushed when I realised that I had in fact put my shirt on backwards. I struggled out of it. "Right."

"C'mere." He commanded. I haughtily complied.

He wrapped his arms around me and I snuggled into his chest, enjoying the warmth. I was still pouting, though, and Daryl noticed.

"Stop that," he muttered, kissing the top of my head. "Jus' relax."

"Mmkay." I smiled, pulling the blankets up to my chin.

He was silent for a moment, but tense. I could tell because I could hear his heart, beating fast and shallow. I waited for him to speak.

"I ain't..." He paused, like it was physically painful to speak the words. "I ain't been with many girls."

I blinked, surprised. I'd just assumed that Daryl slept around. He was gorgeous, and he didn't seem to have moral convictions about chastity or fidelity or anything.

But then I thought about it. I'd never heard anyone mentioned, never heard whispers of wild nights from any of the gossipy women who tended to flock to Odette's. I realised I'd never actually seen Daryl with a woman, or heard him talk about one.

The look on his face plainly revealed he regretted saying anything. I'd been silent too long.

I pushed myself up on my elbows and smiled at him. "Well, y'know, I'm not exactly the town bike either."

He snorted, smiling a little. "I guess not. I just... 's been a while. Since I last..." he coughed, "I just... If it wasn't good... that's why."

I smiled and started tracing patterns into his skin lazily. "You shouldn't worry, it was good for me. Was it good for you?"

He stared at me. "You can't seriously be askin', babygirl."

"That good, huh?" I grinned. He smiled back and kissed me swiftly.

"That good," he agreed.

"So when was the last time you...?" I asked cheekily.

"Don't wanna talk about it." He replied, with blush in his cheeks. At least it wasn't me, for once.

"C'mon," I said, "I'll tell you something you wanna know too. It'll be like a game."

He looked at me mistrustfully. "I get to start."

"Okay, ask away."

"Why'd you come here?" He asked bluntly. "Why now? Been waitin' for you long enough. Never thought you'd want what I was offerin'."

I considered the question carefully. "I guess the other night got me thinking about it. About how you wouldn't be around forever."

"I'm older than you, babygirl, but I'm not _that_ _old_," Daryl said, "I'm not going in the ground for a long while yet."

"That's not what I meant," I clarified, moving to straddle him, "I mean, you might've turned Jasmine down, but one day someone would've caught your eye, and you would've moved on from me. I decided I didn't want that to happen."

His fingers laced through mine. "And you didn't know that before?"

I shook my head. "I think I got comfortable. I was so young when we met... nothing could have happened initially. And then, I don't know. You were always there, and I always knew you were. That was enough."

"Until it wasn't," he finished. I smiled.

"Until it wasn't," I agreed, "now it's my turn."

He groaned.

"So how long's it been?" I persisted.

He muttered something so quietly I didn't hear.

"Again, and louder this time," I commanded imperiously, feeling relatively pleased with myself from my vantage point atop a gorgeous, well built man with hazel eyes.

"Five years," he said, a fraction louder than before. My jaw dropped.

"_Five_ years?" I exclaimed. "I didn't even have a sex life to speak about five years ago. You finished before I even _started_."

He blushed in spite of himself, and glared at me. "It's _your_ fault."

"How is it _my_ fault you couldn't get laid?" I asked.

"Every time I went to sleep with someone I thought about what _you'd_ say. Pictured you all dissaprovin', yellin' at me about not havin' standards and not treatin' women right and all that." He said accusatory. "You set up camp in my brain and didn't leave for six damn years."

I grinned. "You were _saving yourself_," I said teasingly, "for _me_."

"Careful, now!"

"Jeez, after five years of waiting I'm surprised you lasted ten seconds." I continued, "marvellous effort on your part. Really well done, especially considering how rusty you are."

"Shut up," he said, grabbing my hips with both hands and switching our positions. "It's _my_ turn again."

I couldn't stop grinning. He glowered down from above me.

"Okay," I relented. "Shoot."

"When did you start havin' sex? With who?" There was curiosity in his voice, but also jealousy. He plainly didn't like the idea of me being with anyone else.

I shrugged. "I had a boyfriend when I was about eighteen. We were pretty serious."

"Then what?"

"I went to college here, he went to college somewhere else. It ended."

"Did it break your heart? Fuck you up?" he asked, searching my eyes for the answer before I gave it.

"Nah," I said, "I was kinda numb to it. I was tired."

"Tired?"

"I get tired of people," I explained, "I mean, not of my family, but most people are so much effort. I think so hard about how I should act, what's going to please them, what they're like inside. It just gets too hard after a while. I feel myself pulling away and I tell myself I shouldn't, but I've never been good at taking my own advice."

"I get that," he said.

The corners of my mouth twitched. "I know you do."

"I think you just care too much," he said, "you care about everyone and everything, and it wears you down. You're sensitive, emotional. Such a damn girl."

"Am not!" I protested, ignoring the niggling feeling that he understood me better than I did. "I'm not _sensitive_!"

"You are." He smiled. "You pretend you're so different, but you're every bit as weepy as every other pair of tits."

"Keep talking and you'll never see these tits again," I shot back.

He laughed. It was strange, seeing him so easy and free like this. It made me all fuzzy inside.

"I surrender," he said, "I wouldn't dare risk the privilege."

"After waiting five years, I should hope not," I replied. "It's my turn to ask a question."

"Kay."

"What now?" I said haltingly. "What do you want this to be?"

He was silent for a moment. Then he moved, rolling onto his side and holding me against him. "Whatever you want is fine by me."

"That's not what I asked." I pressed, not wanting to be the playmaker in the relationship.

More silence.

"I don't want you with other guys." He said finally. "But I ain't signin' up to carry your purse for you, neither."

"That's fine, I'll carry my own purse," I quipped lightly. "So we're what... dating?"

He shrugged. "Okay."

"No," I said frustratedly, "I wasn't asking. I mean, I wasn't _proposing_, I just was wondering if that's what you _thought_ we were."

He chuckled. "Chill, babygirl. Words are just words. I'm not big into terms an' labels."

"Well you'll have to explain where you want us to stand, then." I said testily. "If you're so opposed to _labels_."

He considered this for a moment before taking my hand. "You are mine, I am yours."

It was simply put, and I was enduring the limited comfort of a tiny, rickety little bed, but it was still by far the most romantic moment of my life.

"Oh," I said softly, "okay. Cool."

He kissed my forehead. "Get s'more sleep, now. We have hours till we have to worry about your work an' all that."

In light of the drizzling rain I could hear outside and the comfort of Daryl's warm embrace, that proved an easy thing to do.


	4. The Aforementioned Apocalypse

_**Title: The Sanctity of the Arts**_

_**By The Bunnies Will Kill Us All**_

_**Summary: **_My name is Persephone Jones, and herein lies an account of my life both before and after the onset of the apocalypse. Do not read if you're sensitive to sarcasm and wit, because the zombie scourge hasn't put a damper on either of those things. DarylOC.

_**Author Note: **_So I know I said I'd be away, but I blitzed my exam today (or at least, I didn't fail and thus awarded myself the rest of the day off). Then I found myself writing, and this is what came of it. But this time when I say I won't be posting for a week or so, I do actually mean it. So yeah, enjoy the chapter, I'll see you in a week or thereabouts.

_**ChooseJoy: **_I semi-kinda did kick my first exam in the ass. I at least did not embarrass msyelf.

**_LadyLecter47_: **Thank you! Here's a chapter ahead of time.

_**Leyshla Gisel:**_ Gratuitous sex scene: check. I think the main reason I didn't write it last chapter is that I always feel like they come across as really cheesy and cliched. You can't write a sex scene without using the word member, a fact which I find saddening.

**_Emberka-2012_**: I must admit I was rather pleased with myself over that line.

_**Poshy**_: I'm glad it makes you feel fluffy inside! Though perhaps this chapter won't so much... but stay tuned for future fluff!

**_Leila_**: Cheers missy! And I'm glad its only cute in the way that a squirrel-hunting redneck is cute. Edgy-cute is the best kind of cuteness.

* * *

**Chapter Four: The Aforementioned Apocalypse**

**Entry 4: 17th June, 2012**

_Day 41 of the Zombie Apocalypse_

Here's a fun fact for you. The Fourth Event coincided with the apocalypse.

That's right. My first date with Daryl Dixon got crashed by a zombie.

* * *

I didn't lose my job at Odette's, thank god, but I was stuck working like a million extra shifts that week to make up for my mistake. Melody had gotten bit by some crazy homeless guy, and had come down with a serious case of the flu. From what I heard, it was pretty bad.

That wasn't the only strange story going around that week. There were weird news items about all these strange attacks and something in the air just felt different. Like we were on the precipice.

At the time I thought I was being stupid. Suspicious and crazy. As it turned out, I was disturbingly correct. Never doubt your instincts.

Due to the workload, I hadn't spoken to Daryl much since the whole spontaneous sex incident. But he took the opportunity to talk to me during his usual Tuesday afternoon drink. Merle, thankfully, did not make an appearance that week. Daryl said something about him being strung out on meth, but I hardly paid attention. I was looking at the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he talked.

"Can I see you tonight?" He asked, bringing me back to reality. I smiled.

"Course. I get off work around nine. I'll swing by."

"It's a date, then," he drawled, smirking a little. I blushed and nodded.

"Yeah," I smiled bashfully, "I guess it is."

* * *

I didn't know why I was jittery. I was here just the other night, I rationalised. I stood at this very same door, walked across that very same threshold, and had my way with that very same man just a few nights ago.

I knocked.

"C'mon in," Daryl called from inside, his voice carrying in the small space. "It's open."

I opened the door, and saw Daryl lounging on his couch. I smiled nervously. "Hi."

"What kinda stupid uniform is that, anyway?" Daryl asked by way of greeting, looking me up and down. Not, I suspected, to remind himself what the uniform looked like. His combative attitude immediately made me feel comfortable, for some reason.

"It's the one they gave me," I shrugged, "sex sells, baby."

"Baby?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You call me baby, with the addition of a syllable. Am I not allowed?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow of my own.

"You're allowed," he conceded, "...in private."

I laughed. "Wouldn't wanna ruin your street cred, huh?"

"Summin' like that."

"So what's your beef with the uniform, then?" I asked, doing a little mock twirl to show it off. "Is it the capped sleeves? Capped sleeves never suited me."

He scoffed. "Gives me too much to think about, is all."

"It leaves little to the imagination," I admitted. "But I would've figured you'd like that."

He shrugged. "Don't much like the idea of other guys lookin', is all."

"If it helps, most people look at Melody. She wears shorter shorts." I consoled. "I very rarely get hit on."

"Good."

I crawled into his lap, resting my head in the hollow between his neck and his collarbone. He slung his arm around my shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"C'mon," he said suddenly, pulling us both to our feet. "I had a plan for this thing. Ain't gonna just sit around and do nothin'. We're goin' out."

"I thought the point was sex, but okay," I quipped.

His eyes lit up with mischief. "Who says we can't have sex if we're goin' out?"

"Kinky," I grinned, "but public sex is so trashy, and I'm a respectable girl."

"Right," he drawled, "all the respectable girls come over uninvited and spend the night with a guy who ain't so much as bought them dinner before."

I swatted his arm. "Shut up."

He smiled wryly and led me outside. I assumed we'd get into his truck, but instead he led me along a dirt path that winded away from his property and into the forest.

"You're not an axe murderer, are you?" I asked staring up at the glimpses of sky I could see through the thick canopy. "Leading me into the woods so as to simplify the disposal of my dead body?"

"Naw," Daryl said, smiling. "Just thought I'd take you on a bit of a hike."

I looked at him incredulously. "Cause I'm such a fan of the outdoors and all its bountiful gifts?"

"Somethin' like that." Daryl said, ignoring the sarcasm. "You'll like this. Imma show you somethin' pretty."

"Honey, your member is impressive and all, but _pretty_ is hardly the word I'd use," I said slyly.

Daryl tussled my hair, I shrieked. "Don't you smartmouth me, babygirl. I'm tryna be romantic, here."

"Okay! Okay!" I said shrilly, freeing myself from his grip. "I give!"

He laughed, and pulled me deeper into the woods.

I pouted, fussing with my hair. "You're mean."

We stopped in a pretty clearing. The trees formed a natural arch above our heads, and the warm Georgian night became slightly more tolerable under the cool shadow of a great oak that stood at the clearing's centre. I looked around, glimpsing patches of starlight between branches. It was a pretty place, but surely this wasn't it?

"Well?" I looked at him expectantly.

He nodded at our surrounds. "Take a good look, babygirl."

I re-examined the area. Something did seem familiar. I realised what it was within moments.

"This is the place!" I exclaimed. "Where we met!"

Daryl nodded, seeming pleased with himself. He pointed at a great gnarled root in the ground. "You fell down there..."

I grinned at the memory. He pointed at a nearby thicket. "I came through there." He pointed again, this time to the great oak. "Your loser friend was leanin' up against that tree there. I remember it like it was yesterday."

"I remember you being real mean to that loser friend of mine," I teased, "of course you were a perfect gentleman to _me_."

"You're a lady," he said, "and a pretty one at that. Had every reason to be nice to you."

"Daryl Dixon, I'm beginning to think you kinda like me," I said lightly, intertwining our fingers.

He snorted. "What part of '_I was celibate for five years_' do you not understand?"

"Speaking of that," I looped my arms around his neck, "we have some lost time to make up for."

His eyes sparkled with mirth, but my ministrations quickly turned his mirth into lust. His gaze was all-consuming.

There, in the dim moonlight, he pulled me down onto a bed of soft grass. It felt like every fibre in my body thrummed with my need for him, every touch sent sparks onto my skin, every look pierced right to the core of me.

We were frantic at first, tearing off clothes like they were burning our skin, kissing like it was the last time we ever would. But when he entered me every movement was slow and intentional and so agonisingly pleasurable. I clawed at his back, arching my own to deepen him in me. I let out a wordless moan.

Soon there was no restraint in how he took me, no gentleness. He thrust again and again, harder and harder. I felt my heart thudding so hard against my chest I almost thought it would burst. This is what lovemaking is, I realised, it's fear and pleasure and freedom.

I'd never cared much for feeling a man go deep inside me. It was then and there that I finally understood the appeal. We pulled each other close, grinding, going deep, like we were somehow trying to transcend our bodies. All I could think about, all I could feel, was the thrumming in my veins. My whole body sung out that it wanted him.

"Babygirl," he said it like it was a prayer. With hushed reverence, and over and over. "_Babygirl_... Baby-"

The thrumming got faster, in time with my pulse. I could feel my whole body convulse for one slow, ecstatic moment as pure pleasure shot through me. I didn't cry out, there wasn't a sound that could echo the feeling. He quickly followed me over the verge, growling like a wild thing. His pupils were so big that I could only glean a slither of hazel.

We reeled from the feeling of our orgasms, wordless, spent.

Afterwards, we lay still for a while, panting in the grass. The oppressive heat of that Georgian summer night was dulled by an almost intangible breeze. Its caress was cooling, soothing, but barely there at all. Like the gentle caress of his fingertips.

We didn't use our mouths for talking. It seemed a sin to speak. We dressed in silence, pausing to share slow, lazy kisses. I breathed deep the woodsmoke scent of him.

By the time we got back to the cabin, the moon was directly overhead. Bright, almost too bright, after the dim glow of the clearing.

"Baby brother!"

The spell was broken.

"Merle, what the hell?" Daryl grumbled. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Not tonight, baby brother." Merle Dixon said, glancing at us in a most unsavoury way. "Why, hello there, darlin'."

I raised my eyebrows at the detestable man, deeply displeased that he'd killed our buzz. "Why, if it isn't our friendly neighbourhood drug dealer."

Merle looked at me with apathetic distaste. "Just cause my little brother happens to be nailin' you, doesn't mean you're anythin' less than an uppity smart-mouthed bitch. Don't think I won't hit ya if you mess with me, darlin'."

"You worthless piece of trash!" I exclaimed, furious. I almost wished he would take a swing, just so I'd have an excuse to claw his eyes out. He might win, but he'd have more than a few tokens of my esteem to show for it.

"Two-bit skank!" He stepped forward, throwing his chest out.

"That's enough!" Daryl said firmly, pushing his brother back a step or two, "speak like that to her again and you'll find yourself missin' a few teeth, bro."

"See?" I said triumphantly, sticking my tongue out at Merle. He gave me a look of pure loathing.

"You mind that attitude," Daryl warned me, "that's my brother. You can't say whatever the hell you want just cause you feel like it."

I pouted, and nodded grudgingly under the force of his stare. I couldn't feel the aftershocks of our encounter any more. The experience was well and truly over.

"You two are gonna be civil. That clear?" Daryl mandated. We both agreed.

"Me an' Seffie are gonna be best of friends, little bro," Merle said, slapping his brother's shoulder, "guaranteed."

"What'd you call me?" I asked. "Seffie?"

"Seffie. Purr-sephone. Same thing."

I frowned. "Sounds like a dog's name."

Merle's eyes twinkled. I glared.

"What'd I just say?" Daryl grumbled. "Jesus, you people are some kinda dense."

I suppose some girls would've felt hurt if their partners had been so abrasive with them after lovemaking, but it rolled right off my back. I'd known him long enough to know he didn't mean most of what he said anyway.

"I guess that means she's stayin' around for a while." Merle deduced, waving in my general direction. "If yer tryin' to make us play nice."

Daryl glanced at me for a fraction of a second. "Yeah, she's stayin'."

"She's gonna need to pack a bag then, brother."

I looked at Merle for the first time. I mean, really looked. He had a cut above his right eye, no more than an inch or two long, but deep. There were scrapes on his arms and his jeans were dirty. Merle had been fighting.

"What're you takin' about?" Daryl demanded.

"There's..." Merle struggled to find the words. "There's _things_ in town. Fucking dead people come to life."

Daryl laughed. "What the hell have you been smokin', brother?"

"_Look_," Merle said, producing from his backpack a severed hand. I jumped backwards. "I chopped it right off one of the dead fuckers."

"What the hell?" Daryl exclaimed. "You ain't serious."

"Turn on the TV," Merle demanded. "C'mon now, do it. I'll show you."

I grabbed the remote and went to switch to a channel with the news. The images that graced the screen stopped me in my tracks.

Screaming. People being ripped to shreds in the streets by... It couldn't be. Corpses.

"... the devestation is widespread. Civilians are advised to evacuate populous areas and head towards the nearest refugee camp..."

A map appeared showing the country and all the allocated refugee camps. The closest one to us was in Atlanta.

"They've overrun town," Merle said, "I suggest we make our preparations quickly if we intend to live, little bro."

Daryl said nothing. He stared at the screen in disbelief for a moment, before glancing down at the severed hand Merle had brought with him.

Then he sprung into action. They conversed urgently, taking a tally of what they had access to. They decided to start loading the truck.

As an afterthought, Daryl turned to me. "Grab anything in the kitchen that's canned and anything else that might be useful. C'mon, we need to go _now_."

I wanted to protest, but he'd left the room before I'd even started speaking. What about my family? I wanted to yell at his retreating back. But what good would that do? I' told myself I'd slip away when I got the chance. That I'd be able to convince them to swing by and pick my family up. But I think I knew even then that those were comforting lies. Daryl might've consented to a detour, but Merle never would have. In truth I was too afraid to argue, too shell-shocked by what I'd just seen.

I went to move towards the kitchen.

Then I saw Melody.

In life she'd had long black hair, shiny and glossy. Now, it look like half of the scraggly mess had been pulled out by the roots. Flesh barely clung to her face, sagging to reveal glimpses of bone. Her eyeballs looked like they'd already started to rot. In them I could see a glint of something... need?

No, I decided, as she took a shaky step towards me. Not need, hunger.

She hobbled forward quicker now, as if only just realising that she could. I took an involuntary step back. My heart was in my throat.

My hands fumbled for something – anything – that I could use to defend myself. Thankfully, Daryl was old school enough that he still chopped his own firewood, and the axe he used rested beside the mantle. I gripped the weapon, it was uncomfortably heavy in my hands. I grasped it tighter.

Think, I urged myself. Think and fight.

Things seemed to happen faster than normal. My heart was fluttering, convulsing. Dead fear clutched at the pit of my stomach. I want to scream, to cry, but I was too afraid to make a sound.

Dead Melody staggered ever closer, moaning a horrible moan. _Where the fuck was Daryl?_

She was within arm's reach. She lunged.

I swung the axe with all the strength I could muster, embedding it deep in Melody's skull. Horrifyingly, she still reached out, as if to grab me. I twisted the axe, and she convulsed, falling limp to the floor.

I pulled the weapon free and backed away from the re-killed corpse. My hands were shaking. I dropped the axe without really meaning to, and found I was too stiff with terror to pick it back up.

"PERSEPHONE!" Daryl called out. It sounded like he was miles away, but that couldn't be right. I vaguely registered hearing footfalls, and more yelling. I just kept on staring at Melody. Everything felt blurry, numb.

Then someone was shaking me. I caught a whiff of woodsmoke and pine. Daryl.

Hazel, I registered dully. I could see hazel. I was looking into his eyes, so why couldn't I see the rest of him? Why was it all so blurry?

Merle's harsh twang permeated the mental din. "... in shock, baby brother. Grab her and c'mon. We ain't got time to kiss all her owies."

I felt Daryl's firm grasp on my arm. I knew I was walking, taking measured steps out the door of the cabin and settling myself into the car with very little prompting, but it was like I wasn't inside myself. I couldn't feel my feet, my hands, my face...

Feeling returned slowly. I became aware of the sensation of moving. The road was gravelly, and I started to feel the bumps and jostles again. I looked straight ahead, but all I could see was headlights on tar, and the darkness of night.

Daryl, I thought numbly, turning my head. He wasn't driving, that was Merle's honour. He noticed I was looking.

"Yallright?" He asked gruffly, taking my hand in his.

I shuddered at his touch. "I keep waiting to wake up."

He said nothing, he just kept his hand there for a moment, squeezed, and then pulled away.

Even though I'd flinched initially, my skin was cold in the absence of his touch. I wished he hadn't stopped.

And that's how I found myself in a truck with the Dixon brothers at the advent of the zombie apocalypse.


	5. The Tumultuous Truce

_**Title: The Sanctity of the Arts**_

_**By The Bunnies Will Kill Us All**_

_**Summary: **_My name is Persephone Jones, and herein lies an account of my life both before and after the onset of the apocalypse. Do not read if you're sensitive to sarcasm and wit, because the zombie scourge hasn't put a damper on either of those things. DarylOC.

_**Author Note: **_Because I love you kids so much I came straight home after my exam and... fell into a catatonic state. BUT THEN. Then I woke up this morning and started a' writing. Hope you enjoy the wordy stuff.

**_Alina Maxwell_**: Sorry for the wait! Like the penname btw.

**_Leila_**: I deliver unto you Persephone/Merle interaction, enjoy!

**_Guest_**: Done! Thanks for reviewing!

**_Emberka-2012_**: Indeed, I kinda didn't want to introudce them because of the adorbs that Daryl provides, but once they were there I had to admit that I do enjoy writing Merle.

_**LadyLecter47**_**:** I do try, dear. I do try :)

_**ChooseJoy: **_Dude thanks! And I very much like the idea of event planners reading my stuff while events are happening. Makes me feel all-powerful. I'm glad the chapter entertained.

_**Leyshla Gisel: **_Ah, well, that was basically a massive fuckup on my part. I kept on looking at them and thinking they were hazel. So we shall just pretend they are for the purpose of this story. Whoops.

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Tumultuous Truce**

**Entry 5: 18th June, 2012**

_Day 42 of the Zombie Apocalypse_

Dunno how long we were driving for. All I can remember is the unending expanse of road. White stripes, black tar and halogens.

The sun came up at some point. I don't think I'd ever been awake early enough to see the sunrise before. The sky was grey, then pink, orange, and finally light blue. It was a clear, sunny day. My least favourite kind.

"And of course it has to be sunny," I muttered. Daryl glanced at me, it was the first time I'd spoken since he'd pulled me into the car.

"Summin' wrong with the sun, babygirl?"

"I hate the glare," I explained, "the relentless, inescapable beating down of heat and light... makes me feel like I'm in a frying pan. Give me overcast any day."

Merle snorted. "Seffie, you are one crazy bitch."

"So they say." I replied shortly.

I didn't feel better. The more I thought about what had happened, the worse I felt. It was crippling, constant. I almost wished for the return of numbness, of shock. Then I wouldn't have to feel.

My family. If the town was overrun, they were likely dead. Or undead. Just thinking about it made me sick.

"Merle," I began carefully, "you said it was real bad in town."

"Cuz it was," Merle said, chewing on a toothpick as he drove, "town square was overrun, Odette's was goin' up in flames..."

"And Partana Avenue?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. "It's just off Oakridge."

"I dunno about Partana, but Oakridge was all kindsa fucked up." Merle said, oblivious to my horror. "Cars couldn't get through, too many undead fuckers. So folks got stuck in place, and the horde ripped 'em to pieces. Was all screamin' an-"

"S'enough, Merle," Daryl said firmly, noticing that I'd started to cry.

"Bitch asked!" Merle said defensively. "Not my fault if she can't handle-"

"That's _enough_." Daryl repeated firmly. He didn't move to comfort me with words. Not with his brother watching. He did try and take my hand again, though. I yanked it away, pressing my palm to my face in an attempt to stifle the sobs.

They were great, heaving sobs too. Sobs that wracked my whole frame. My chest ached, my hands shook. Dead, all dead. Mother, father, brother – all likely ripped to pieces by the undead.

I wallowed in this sense of deep loss, and, for some reason, I nursed my misdirected rage towards the Dixon brothers.

I should have been with my family, I thought irrationally. It should've gone down differently. We would have been together, we would have found a way to survive.

* * *

We'd been travelling for a few days before I spoke as many as three consecutive words to either Dixon. But my chattiness always won over in the end.

"Why'd you have tents, anyway?" I asked Daryl. "Don't get me wrong, it's convenient, but I didn't think you ever used them."

"I don't usually," he replied, clearly relieved to hear me say anything other than 'pass the stewed squirrel', "no need for it when I go huntin' near town. Sometimes I go out a ways, though. For deer and the like."

"Oh. Okay." I replied, not really knowing what else to say.

Daryl glanced around for a moment, presumably double-checking that Merle was still down by the creek. "Hey," he said softly, touching my arm, "y'okay?"

I nodded, the limp in my throat making it difficult to speak. "Still breathing." I confirmed.

"S'not what I mean," Daryl said, pulling me close, "Hell, m'sorry we couldn't save your folks."

"There wasn't time." I replied flatly, speaking into the hollow of his collarbone rather than looking him in the eye. "You said so yourself."

He squeezed me. "I'm still sorry."

"Sorry doesn't help me much," I said shortly, pulling back from the embrace. "Sorry doesn't change the fact that I'm now completely alone in this world."

Was it my imagination, or did his eyes flicker with uncertainty for a second? "That ain't true."

"Oh, why, cause I have _you_?" I asked mockingly, unable to stop myself.

He looked taken aback by my coldness, but feigned indifference. He shrugged. "You have me if you want me."

I laughed a short, bitter laugh. "Well guess what – I _don't_."

I was unsure where the fit of megabitch had come from. He'd tried so hard the last few days to be kind, and I'd thrown every effort back in his face. I knew I was being cruel, that I had no reason to take things out on him, but I was just so confused. I couldn't tell one feeling from another. The grief mingled with rage and fear and loneliness. I felt all jumbled up inside, so much so that I felt like I might burst.

Fighting with Daryl, much like not fighting with Daryl, was generally a deeply uncomfortable, confrontative experience.

"Hell, I don't remember signin' up to be your bitch," he spat.

I narrowed my eyes. "Funny, I don't remember signing up to be part of the Dixon hillbilly road trip."

"You don't like how we do things?" Daryl demanded. "There's the door. Feel free to use it."

"Dinner _and_ a show," Merle drawled, sitting back and watching the fight amusedly. "Will you look at that."

"Shut up Merle," Daryl and I said in unison.

He turned to me angrily. "Don't _you_tell my brother to shut up."

I stared at him in wordless rage. "Were you dropped on the head? You _just_ said-"

"Don't matter what I said, Merle and I are family. You're not."

"Well," I said with quiet rage, "thanks for clearing that up. I'm really disappointed not to be part of Klu Klux Redneck, but you'll understand if I hold back on the tears."

And with that I foolishly stormed into the wilderness.

* * *

I had been walking in the direction of nowhere in particular for about forty-five minutes before Daryl came to retrieve me.

"What the hell are you doing?" Daryl demanded, grabbing my shoulder and forcing me to a stop.

I shrugged off his hand, already feeling foolish for taking off but physically incapable of admitting fault.

"You said 'there's the door!'" I snapped, turning around and continuing to walk into the dark unknown. I heard Daryl growl in frustration and follow.

"Hell, I didn't mean it." He argued. "C'mon, stop stompin' through the woods like you've got summin' to prove and come back to camp."

I shot him a glare over my shoulder and didn't pause for even a second. "No thank you."

"I swear I will knock you out and drag you back if I have to," Daryl said threateningly.

I turned around and gave him a challenging look, thinking that he wouldn't there. "I guess you're gonna have to knock me out then, aren't cha?"

* * *

He technically didn't make good on his threat. As big as he talked, I doubted Daryl would ever actually hit a girl. But he did drag me. Forcibly, all the way back to camp. I swore and scratched and railed against his existence the whole way.

It was dark by the time we got back. Crickets chirped loudly and the summer night was as sweltering as ever, carrying with it a host of mosquitoes hell-bent on devouring me whole.

Worse than that was Merle's expression, which was one of unconfined glee. "Whatsa matter darlin'? Ruin your manicure?"

I glared at the detestable man from the spot where Daryl had set me down. "Just because I can't kill you doesn't mean I won't try." I reminded him.

Merle just snorted and continued regarding me with triumph.

Daryl went over to the fire and spooned some foul squirrel-broth into a bowl. He brought it over to me. I looked from the bowl to him and then back again.

"You can't be serious."

"We're out of bread. You're gunna have to start eatin' what we catch." Daryl said, setting the bowl down in front of me. "Tastes like chicken, I swear."

I looked at him in utter disbelief, and nudged the bowl away with my foot. "I highly doubt that."

He shrugged and sat down beside me, lapsing into silence.

"So you're just gunna sit here?" I asked tetchily.

He looked at me. "I don't want you to run off."

I blinked. "I won't."

He didn't give any indication that he'd heard me. "M'really sorry about your family." He said.

"I know." I said in a voice that sounded far more vulnerable and frail than I'd meant it to.

Unlike all the other times he'd said it, I didn't feel rage at his words. Instead I just felt tired... sad. And guilty. Definitely guilty about my illicit hike through the woods which put not only myself but Daryl in grave danger. There could have been dead people out there.

I swallowed my pride and spoke. "I'm sorry about everything I said and did. There was nothing you could do for my family. You saved my life, and I should be thanking you for that."

"Jus' bungled you into a truck, really," he shrugged the apology off. "You took down the dead chick yourself."

I shuddered, the image of Melody's decomposing face flooding my mind. "Don't remind me."

He took my hand gently and squeezed. "Truce?" He asked.

I looked at him for a moment, letting myself re-register all the pleasing features of his face, the ones I'd made myself forget.

"Truce." I agreed.

He almost smiled before walking over to confer with Merle over our next move. I curled up and let myself get some sleep, one question circulating in my mind.

_Was I still dating Daryl Dixon, or not?_

None of the chick books were clear on what the protocol was for relationships in the advent of an apocalyptic event. Comprehensive insight my arse. What a waste of money _Men are from Mars_ was.


End file.
